


An Unhealthy Routine

by coffeeandshakyhands



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (creators have said they are comfortable with these kind of fics), (if they say otherwise i’ll take down this fic along with my others), (these are rp personas of the ppl not the actual ppl), Adoptive Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Anorexia, Author Projecting onto Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Eating Disorders, Gen, Gremlin TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), LMAO, Modern Era, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Technoblade Has Braided Hair (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Tired Wilbur Soot, also @ ao3 change phil’s tag to philza for the love of pog, dont worry i hate myself too, he is concerned, it sucks ass, kinda???, no beta we die like tommy’s mental stability in exile, not rlly he’s just a little brother, not rlly???, technoblade has social anxiety bitch, that says enough right there, yep i’m projecting onto a /rp version of a block pig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28497708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandshakyhands/pseuds/coffeeandshakyhands
Summary: Techno doesn’t eat. Things can’t stay hidden forever.(read the tags, please!)
Relationships: Only Platonic - Relationship, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 29
Kudos: 524





	An Unhealthy Routine

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to me straight up projecting onto technoblade’s character lmao. as a stressed out teenager who’s currently struggling with mental stuff, i needed smthin to use as an outlet soooooo have this. also, this is vaguely based off of the song “hug all ur friends” by cavetown

Eating was a conflicting thing for Techno. On one hand, it could be comfort on a day where he was stressed. On another, it was a chore, a waste of time that would only slow him down in the long run. The teenager didn’t have an appetite, anyways. What was the point of eating if it made you feel like throwing up anytime you did so?

So he didn’t. Sure, it made his father concerned when he wouldn’t take anything from the breakfast table in the morning. Yeah, it made Wilbur raise an eyebrow whenever he didn’t eat at lunch. It was a small price to pay.

Currently, Techno was experiencing the first of those examples. It was Saturday, the pink haired teenager wearing an oversized t-shirt and random pajama shorts that had pigs on them (fuck Tommy for buying such a comfortable gag gift). Phil had made pancakes and eggs, Tommy digging into them eagerly while Wilbur took his plate up to his room so he could watch a TV show that he was obsessed with.

Techno was sitting at the table, a glass of chocolate milk sitting in front of him. It was a guilty pleasure of his, especially since it hurt to actually eat chocolate itself. He hadn’t grabbed anything else, sitting and sipping his drink as Phil’s eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Techno, are you sure you aren’t hungry?” The man asked. The teen in question gave a nod, taking another sip of his drink.

“Dad, he never eats at the table, I don’t think he’ll ever eat in front of us! He’s like a mole,” Tommy exclaimed, mouth half full of eggs. Techno flashed the middle finger in return.

“Techno!”

“What? He was being annoying.”

“That’s my job,” Tommy exclaimed, picking up his now empty plate and turning on the sink to wash it. Phil rolled his eyes, his eyes going back to his oldest son.

“Tech, you never eat in front of us. It’s making me a little worried.”

“I’m fine. I just ate a granola bar before you guys woke up.” Lie. He hadn’t eaten in two days. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal in nearly two weeks.

Phil’s face seemed to light up at the lie, Techno feeling slight guilt from how happy his father seemed.

“Okay, that’s fine. Was just being sure,” The oldest in the room sighed out, beginning to help the youngest wash dishes as Techno walked out of the room.

His stomach felt as though it was tightening.

-+-+-

Crying. Techno couldn’t remember the last time he cried, but his stomach was in so much pain that it was almost unbearable. He should eat, but he had already tried that. He had eaten an apple, throwing it up not even half an hour later.

His eating habits had turned around and stabbed him in the back. Those same habits had gotten so bad that he started a calorie journal, the small notebook laying on his desk with all of his schoolwork.

Four weeks. Four weeks without eating a full meal. He got by on most days with only a few pecans or almonds and a cheese stick. Other days, he’d not eat at all, spending all of his time in his room studying for whatever test was next. He obsessed over his grades, wanting to get them up as high as possible. It was unhealthy. But it was too late to turn around now.

Techno continued to silently cry into his pillow, his eyes dry and his throat raw. He was startled back to reality with a knock on his door, hearing it crack open.

“Techno? I need your help with this math, it’s hard as fu-... Techno?” Wilbur’s voice was heard from the direction of his door, tone laced with confusion.

“Yeah?” His voice came out slightly shaky, but it was fine, he was buried under the covers.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine! You need my math notebook?”

“Yeah...?” Wilbur’s voice still held a slightly confused edge, Techno acting as if he couldn’t tell.

“Top journal on my desk.”

He heard Wilbur’s footsteps walk over to his desk, his eyes suddenly widening in realization at what he had just said.

Wait. Shit. Fuck.

“Wait, it’s the second one-”

“Techno, get the fuck out from under those covers,” Wilbur’s voice, now pissed off, came from outside the safety of his blankets.

Techno sighed, pulling back said covers and sitting up in his bed.

“What the fuck is this? Is this a calorie journal?” The younger boy asked, his face full of anger and shock.

“No, it’s an essay I’m writing,” Techno muttered sarcastically. “Get out of my room.”

“I’m gonna text Phil.”

Techno’s eyes widened, face now full of panic as he stood up. “No, no, Wilbur, please. I’ll do your chores for two months, I’ll do your homework, just don’t tell him, please.”

“Techno, this is concerning as hell! You haven’t eaten properly in four fucking weeks! You could die!”

“Would that really be so bad?!”

Wilbur’s face gained a look of utter sadness, his eyes glazing over with tears that he refused to let fall.

Silence filled the room. Techno’s bright pink hair was tangled and messy, his fists clenched tightly. Wilbur’s hand still clutched on tightly to the pocket-sized notebook, his other hand hanging limply by his side.

“Nevermind, I’m calling Phil instead.”

Wilbur slammed the door on his way out of Techno’s room, the latter falling to his knees and beginning to sob again. 

Twenty minutes later, the oldest of the three teens currently in the house sat in his desk chair, making a messy braid to attempt to calm himself down. He didn’t know how Phil was going to react, much less Tommy. Fuck, had Wilbur told Tommy? His youngest brother was 13, he’d know that it wasn’t healthy. What kind of role model was he? He was 17, for fucks sake. 

Wilbur was 15 and was better than Techno. He had nearly perfect grades, excelled in playing guitar, and never got in trouble. Techno got into fights, was barely making B’s, and didn’t have any hobbies besides playing Minecraft in his room. Plus, Phil was going to be under so much more stress now. Techno already had social anxiety, why did he need this on top of it?

The teen let out a long exhale, trying to focus on his hair between his fingers as he finally finished the braid. He tied it and threw it behind his shoulder, laying his head in his arms on his desk. He was so tempted to just leave the house, but his car was currently getting repairs due to issues with the breaks. He couldn’t take his bike because it was raining, so he was fucked.

Speaking of rain, Techno’s room lit up with a flash of lightning, the crash of thunder being heard directly afterwards. The noise of the front door being opened accompanied the thunder, his eyes going wide.

Fuck. Phil was home. Shit.

Techno decided to just stay in the position he was in, maybe faking being asleep would work? No, his breathing was too quick for that, it wouldn’t look even enough. His dad wasn’t stupid.

A knock. On his door. The rain suddenly felt as if it were mere background noise, his head not even moving from its place between his arms.

The door cracked open, Techno finally gaining the guts to open his eyes.

Shit.

His dad’s eyes were swollen, obviously from crying. He looked as though he had tried to cover it up with the rain, but the fact that his eyes were also bloodshot gave away the act.

“Tech-”

“I’m sorry.”

Phil’s eyes widened in pity. The teenager in front of him looked stressed, as if he had just ran a marathon three times over. 

“Don’t apologize. Where’s the... you know?”

“Wilbur has it,” Techno mumbled, his voice quiet and somewhat shaky.

“Okay. Tech, you know you can talk to me, right? Wil has had-”

“Of course you have to bring in fucking Wilbur. He’s perfect, right? He doesn’t get into fights, he doesn’t make bad grades, he doesn’t stay in his room all day. Wilbur, Wilbur, fucking Wilbur,” Techno snapped. “I’m sorry, okay?! I know you probably don’t want to deal with my bullshit anymore than the next guy, and that’s fine! I’m fine!”

Phil looked somewhat shocked at his oldest child’s outburst, his face melting into one of empathy. “Techno, I don’t care. You’re still my son. I don’t care what grades you make, I don’t care how many fights you get into, I don’t care how long you stay in your room. You’re still my kid, and nothing will change that. I want to help you, if you’ll let me. Mental change is something you’ve got to fix on your own, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a support system.”

Techno’s sat in shock, his mind racing. Support system? His dad wanted to support him? “You’re not mad?”

Phil gave a smile. “No, I’m just upset you didn’t tell me. I’m also worried as hell.”

The pink haired teenager stared at his feet. “I tried to eat an apple earlier. I threw up.”

“You probably need something that’s light on your stomach. I can make some vegetable soup, if you want.”

Techno’s eyes lit up. 

**Author's Note:**

> also, want it to be clear! techno isn’t gucci yet. recovery takes time. currently, i’m trying to get onto the path he’s starting on my own, so this is my way of giving myself hope. please correct spelling in the comments :)


End file.
